


hashtag bored

by torigates



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5425379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates/pseuds/torigates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I think I just got in trouble for tweeting too much</i>, he texts PK. </p><p>PK texts him back a string of crying laughing emojis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hashtag bored

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sirona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/gifts).



> Happy holidays, sirona! I hope you enjoy this, you were a lot of fun to write for. 
> 
> I kind of handwaved the schedule. Just go with it.

It's not that Carey doesn't like twitter, or that he has anything against it. He understand its purpose and what it's good (and bad) for. He just... doesn't find much use in having one personally. He has one because he kind of has to, and he tweets when his agent or someone from Habs PR reminds him to. 

Then he gets hurt.

Carey’s been hurt before. He’s a hockey player, it’s kinda part of the job description, but every time he’s out for any long stretch of time he manages to forget just how _boring_ it is. 

PK has lectured Carey--and the entire Montreal Canadiens team, to be honest--about the importance of creating and maintaining an online brand. Carey listens, he pays attention, and then he ignores everything that PK has to say about it. 

“Pricey,” PK whines, after the millionth time Carey replies ‘I’m not gonna do that,’ to some of PK’s advice. “I’m just trying to help you here. You need to harness the power of the Carey Prince name.” 

He doesn’t want want to harness the power of the Carey Price name. He enjoys using it to like, help sick kids or whatever, but it’s just not his style. PK is good at it. He’s charming and charismatic and people are drawn to him whatever the circumstances. Carey doesn’t work like that. 

But when he’s injured and sitting at home with nothing to do, the internet calls to him. 

He’s always made it his practice not to read his or the team’s press, and there’s only so many cat photos he can look at before it’s like--a cat is a cat? He doesn’t get it. 

Then it’s Movember, and Carey has nothing better to do, and it is for a good cause. It’s fun, even if there are admittedly more people calling him dad than he is strictly speaking comfortable with, but it’s fun, and it’s nice to talk to the fans. 

Still, when he goes back to playing, he thinks ‘that’s about enough of that.’

Even when he goes out again days later he doesn’t think about twitter, or his brand online or otherwise. He’s too angry to think about it. Angry at himself for stepping on the fucking puck, angry at his body for not doing what he needs, for pushing himself to go back before he was ready, angry at the Therrien for running a system that makes him feel like he needs to be out there. 

He allows himself two days to have an epic sulk, and then he gets the fuck over himself and focuses on getting better.

-

“Maybe don’t get into twitter fights with old time NHLers,” PK is saying when Carey walks into the team meeting.

“What was I supposed to do?” Gally asks. “He really fucking pissed me off.” 

“Uh, ignore it?” PK says. He has his hands on his hips, accented by the dark jeans he’s wearing, along with a ridiculously large cable knit sweater. It makes him look like--like a college professor or a fisherman or something. 

Gally throws up his hands, forcing Carey’s attention away from PK’s ridiculous outfit. “Ugh, fine! I’m sorry. It just got to me.” 

“You’re just bored, more like,” PK says. 

Gally rolls his eyes and goes to sit down next to Chucky, who claps him on the shoulder consolingly. 

“Pricey!” PK says, his face lighting up when he notices Carey standing there. “How’re you doing, bud?” 

Carey shrugs.

Therrien walks to the front of the room, calling the attention of the team. The meeting runs smoothly, and Carey schools his face into hiding his frustration with the team’s system. He knows he isn’t the only one, he’s talked about it with PK and Patch, some of the other guys have come to him too, but it’s the system they have right now and they’re winning hockey games. 

And Montreal is Montreal. 

He sees the doctors afterwards, the trainers, and tries not to be frustrated with the fact that he’s not on the ice right now. 

Carey goes home, collapsing on the couch and turning on an episode of _How It’s Made_. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through twitter randomly. He stops at a picture of PK, smiling wide. “ICYMI PK Subban was great to sick kids. Again.” Carey clicks on the link, it’s an article about PK signing Winter Classic jerseys at Carrefour Laval. 

Carey reads it with a fond feeling in his chest. 

Then he googles what the heck ICYMI means. 

He retweets the article, adding ‘what a guy’ and a thumbs up emoji. 

He takes his dogs for a walk, and comes home to a text from PK. _I wish everyone on the team tweeted like you,_ it says. The timestamp is almost an hour ago. A few minutes later it was followed by another one reading, _you better be careful people are going to get the impression you like me_

Carey thinks about replying but decides against it. He smiles as he puts his phone back into his pocket, shaking his head.

-

‘Being injured is the worst,’ Carey thinks to himself, sitting in the press box during their next home game.

“Being injured is the worst,” Gally says, sitting next to him. His arms are crossed over his chest and he’s not sulking but it’s a near thing. 

“I know, bud,” Carey says. 

It helps--a little, not completely--that Condi has been playing his heart out. Carey’s proud of the kid, and glad he’s getting his shot. But he always wants to be between the pipes, and watching instead of playing is tough even when the team is doing well. 

The team has a great game, pulling out another win. PK in particular really turns it on, blocking shots, and getting a goal and two assists. 

“@CP0031 Great win for the boys tonight. @PKSubban1 what a beast!”

-

The team goes on a roadtrip. Carey does not.

It sucks. There’s nothing to say about it except that it sucks. Carey sees the trainers and goes through his approved workouts trying to keep his strength and conditioning in line. 

Home one afternoon with nothing better to do, he opens up his twitter app (something he seems to be doing a lot more these days), and pauses over his keyboard for a long time before tweeting. “@CP0031 Home bored with the dogs. Ask me a question and I might answer.” 

His mentions are immediately flooded with way more questions than he could ever possibly keep up with. A lot are inappropriate or duplicates. He answers questions about his favourite players growing up, his game day routines, what he likes to eat, his favourite thing to do in the offseason. PK comes up a lot, but all his teammates do. It’s not weird when he’s answering questions about the team. It’s fine. Normal. 

He’s playing with the dogs the following afternoon when his phone rings. The display screen reads the Habs front office number, but Carey can’t think of any reason for them to be calling. 

“Hello?” 

“Carey, hi. It’s Nancy, I’m glad I caught you.” 

Carey has dealt with her in the past, mostly for promotional shoots and interviews. “Hi,” he says. “What can I do for you?” As far as he knows he doesn’t have any more PR obligations for the rest of the year.

“I see you had a busy day yesterday.” 

It’s an odd comment, and it takes Carey a moment to realise that she’s not just making small talk, but asking him about his impromptu tweet spree. “Uh,” he says. “I guess.” 

“Glad to see you getting connected to the fans,” she continues. “Reaching out to the community. That’s great.” 

It doesn’t _sound_ great from her tone of voice, but Care can’t for the life of him think of what he might have done wrong. “Uh,” he says.

“Like I said,” she barrels over him. “Really great. I’m going to ask that you give us a heads up next time you feel the urge to do something similar. Maybe come in and we could help you run it.” 

Carey runs through everything he said. He can’t come up with anything particularly bad. 

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks. 

“No!” she reassures him. “No, nothing like that. We’re just not used to being quite so… verbose.” 

“Okay,” Carey says. 

“Good,” she says. “Okay great!” 

They say their goodbyes and Carey stares at the black screen of his phone in bewilderment. 

_I think I just got in trouble for tweeting too much_ , he texts PK. 

PK texts him back a string of crying laughing emojis. 

Hm.

-

“What does it take to get a tweet from you?” Chucky asks him two weeks later.

The Winter Classic is fast approaching and the atmosphere in the room is excited as the guys ramp up for it. Carey hoped he might be ready in time, but he already fucked himself over coming back too early. He’s pulled out of his trainer induced sulk by Chuck’s question. 

“Huh?” he asks. 

Alex gestures with the hand he’s using to hold his cellphone. “You’re tweeting like every day about how great Subby over here is. Where’s the love for the rest of us?” he asks. “If case you haven’t noticed the rest of us are doing okay too.” 

There’s a petulant expression on his face, and Carey feels his chest well up with fondness for his team. He knows he hasn’t been as present as he could be during his injury, especially the second time around, trapped in his own head and focused on getting better. But he _has_ noticed the rest of them stepping up the best they can. And he loves them. 

“Aw, Chuck,” he says, stepping closer and pulling Alex into a headlock. “C’mere, bud.” He gives Alex a noogie, holding him tight while he squawks and tries to pull away. But Carey isn’t fooled. He loves it. 

He does his best to make the rounds, speaking to everyone before they head home after practice. Carey knows what role he plays in the locker room. He and PK had talked about it extensively before the team voted on their captains. He knows what he has to do, and he _likes_ doing it. He loves his team, loves being the guy.

But the thing is Alex isn’t wrong either. 

Carey knows he’s been focusing on PK, paying more attention, _missing_ him. And he knows… it means more than he’s been letting himself think it means. 

Just thinking that is hard. The thought feels heavy, like it has actual weight to it. Substance. There’s always been a zing of electricity between Carey and PK, and Carey’s always ignored it, talked around it, looked at it only from the corner of his eye. 

He’s staring at it straight on, now. 

And that’s scary. That’s real.

-

The team flies to Boston on New Year’s Eve. It’s a quiet night in at the hotel, although the energy level is high, guys getting pumped for the game tomorrow. Carey’s trying really hard not to bring the rest of the guys down, but he can’t deny he’s bummed about not playing. Opportunities to play in these kind of games don’t come around all the time.

A bunch of the guys are hanging out in Patch’s room, a New Year’s Eve special on the TV. Mostly it’s an excuse to have a couple of beers and hang out. 

Most of the married guys, the guys with kids, have already called it a night, gone to speak to their wives and families. Carey can tell Max is chomping at the bit, holding out for his captainly duty. 

“All right,” Carey says after another thirty minutes. “Time to clear out, boys. I think Patches here wants to talk to the Mrs.” 

There’s a chorus of half-hearted groans and ribbing. 

“Come on,” PK says. “Continue the party chez les Gallys if you want to keep going.” 

“Hey!” Chucky says, but Gally shrugs good naturedly. 

Max shoots him a very unsubtle look of gratitude. 

The boys shuffle down the hallway. PK jostles his shoulder. “You joining?” he asks with a nod. 

Carey thinks about it for a moment before shaking his head. “Nah,” he says. “Gonna head back I think.” 

“Company?” PK asks. 

“Sure,” Carey says. He kinda wants to be alone away from other people, but it’s not like PK counts as other people. Carey’s realisation about his feelings the other week doesn’t change that. 

Carey’s room is cold. Freezing actually. He got used to leaving the heat turned off as a kid because his dad thought it was wasteful to leave it running when there was no one in the room. 

“Jeez,” PK says, rubbing his hands together. “Turn on the heat or you’re gonna be a Price-sicle.” He grins at Carey, the same smile he gives after they win a game, or Carey makes a particularly impressive save.

“You’re not funny or clever,” Carey tells him, schooling his expression, but he crosses the room to turn on the heat anyway.

PK shakes his head. “You think I’m both those things, and handsome too,” PK says, still grinning. 

Carey does, but that’s beside the point. “TV?” he asks, for lack of a comeback and to hide his blush. He settles down on the bed furthest from the door, shifting around until his back is to the headboard. 

PK shrugs, but instead of taking the other bed, he settles next to Carey. Carey shoots a pointed look at the spare across the room, but PK just ignores him. 

“It’s cold in here, Pricey,” he says. He kicks at the covers until the two of them are under the blankets, and the grabs Carey’s arm for good measure, snuggling close and shivering dramatically. 

Carey rolls his eyes and shakes his arm free of PK’s grip. “Get off me, you lug,” he says, but he settles his arm over PK’s shoulders, pulling him close. PK grins up at him. 

They watch the same boring special on TV, but Carey isn’t paying attention to the host or the performers. All he can focus on is the warm press of PK’s body against his side, how nice it feels to have his arm around PK. He wishes it could be like this always. 

“Hey,” he says, giving PK a little squeeze. 

PK looks up at him, appearing warm and content, and Carey just wants to preserve this moment forever. 

“Yeah?” PK asks after a long moment of the two of them simply staring at each other. 

Carey clears his throat. “Uh, new year’s selfie?” 

PK smiles. “Sure.” 

Carey fishes his phone out of his back pocket, jostling their bodies closer together. PK doesn’t move away, and once he has his phone Carey fumbles to get the camera to shoot a front facing photo. 

Their faces are pressed close together, and Carey snaps the photo quickly. They’re both smiling and it looks warm and cozy in the background. Carey stares at it for a long moment. 

“Hey,” PK says, touching Carey’s hand. Carey drags his eyes away from the photo of the two of them together to look at PK. “You know you don’t have to do this to get my attention, Pricey. You have it already.” 

“What?” Carey asks. The quiet warmth of the room from only a moments earlier is gone, replaced with a claustrophobic stuffiness. 

“The tweeting, the selfies. I know you hate it. You’ve been--that for me. Right?” 

It hadn’t been, at least not consciously, but Carey can’t deny the truth. He has come to appreciate the usefulness of twitter in certain scenarios, and while he doesn’t think he’ll ever be PK levels proficient at it, he doesn’t hate it quite so much anymore. That’s thanks to PK, _because_ of PK. And yes, he wanted PK’s attention, too. Wants him.

“Unless… you were really just bored.” The note of uncertainty and the rapidly closing off expression on PK’s face snaps Carey out of his panic. 

“No!” he says. “I mean, yes. It was about you. For you.” 

PK smiles, finally, wide and bright. “ _Yeah_ it was.” 

“God,” Carey says, sliding the arm around PK’s shoulders to cup the back of his neck. His skin is warm and smooth under Carey’s palm, and Carey can no longer contain his own smile. “You’re such an asshole.” 

“Yeah, but _your_ asshole.” 

Carey doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he tugs PK closer until they’re settled flush against each other. 

PK’s mouth is wide and wet against Carey’s lips. He has his hands on Carey’s shoulders, clutching so tight Carey hopes there might be bruises later. It’s warm and dark in the room, the two of them safe below the blankets. 

The moment won’t last forever, Carey knows that, but it doesn’t matter much anymore because there’ll be another one. 

And another one after that. 

They’ve got time.

> @CP0031 Spending NYE behind enemy lines with this guy @PKSubban1 #GoHabsGo #HappyNewYear  
>  [image description: selfie of PK and Carey, their faces close enough they could be touching. They’re both smiling widely. It’s dark in the background, throwing their smiles into contrast and creating a sense of shared intimacy.]


End file.
